


when it’s done, there won’t be anything left

by bubblegums



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Dates, Probably OOC forgive me god, useless bisexuals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 21:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblegums/pseuds/bubblegums
Summary: First dates usually go fine; unless you’re an anime character.





	when it’s done, there won’t be anything left

**Author's Note:**

> Donate To My Sewer  
> this fanfic was quickly put together and sponsored by family mart

If you weren’t aware, first dates are always the weirdest. Maybe it’s because your date _might_ have hair the shape of an ice berg. Or maybe it’s the small chance that your date _might_ be a blushing tsundere. For this delightfully confused and worthless couple, both were the case. Sitting across from each other, a candlelit table in between them, and all the cliché’s and words to say on their tongues. 

It was awkward, to say the least; the pauses of air, the short and quick questions or sentences. Even the Momota, with his baritone of a voice couldn’t speak, only looking up to the ceiling. Harukawa was freezing up, her hands knotted in her long tresses of hair, eyes glued to her old ankle boots. The zipper fascinated her as she leaned in, trying to slowly shift her attention from the awkward silence to her shoes in the worst way possible. Then her forehead bumped into the table, a small ache filling her head. “God damn..” she whispered under her breath, sitting up and looking at Momota, who hadn’t even noticed. She rubbed her forehead, rearranged a fork that had fallen out of place, and let out a noisy exhale.

“Harumaki? You alright?” Momota finally speaks, tilting his stupid head and looking at her with weird eyes. She scrutinized his face, scanning for a look of disapproval and mockery. Eventually, she gave up and said, “Yes, why?” It’s short and crisp, ending a bit too harshly. “That has t’be a lie! Look, your forehead is all bruised!” Harukawa flinches at the tone of his voice, but bites her tongue and responds with, “And?”  
“It looks like you’re hurt.” _No shit, Sherlock._ she thinks, but sighs. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

Too late for that, though. Momota reaches across the table, his hand touching the bruise on her head. “Tell me- does it hurt when I touch it?” Harukawa blinks furiously, and instincts kick in; she slaps his hand away, almost knocking the god damned candle over. “Forget it, I’m fine.” She mutters, looking at her lap. Momota wants to say something, anything; but he swallows down his words and nods sharply, clenching his fists. “Yeah, alright. Just tell me if it-“

“I’m leaving.” Harukawa says, standing up. “I have to go home now. Even if dinner hasn’t been served yet... I...” She searches for words; she can’t be here anymore, her stress levels are building up, and she feels so unsafe, so suffocated. Momota looks at her and nods, but stands also. “I’ll drive you home, Harumaki.”  
_No, no, no, no._ She wants to scream it, but instead nods. “Fine. I’ll wait outside.”

Harukawa walks out the restaurant doors, breathing in fresh air, holding her chest as she heavily breathes. She can’t do this; this is too much more her, it’s like blood rushing to her head, screaming at her to control herself and get a grip. Harukawa slouches against the wall, her hands itching for a cigarette. It’s like a black hole, warping around her and sucking her in, her fingers digging into nothing as she tries to pull herself out. Her heart rams against her rib cage, and her legs start to move.

Before she knows it, she’s two miles away from the restaurant, not in a car, only in ankle boots, a casual red dress, and a worn down face. Harukawa lets out a dry noise, racking her empty throat. She sits down on the dirt, feet aching, heart cracked into two, clichés and love songs all dripping out of her eyes, the shape of tears. 

The only thing that goes through her mind is that love _fucking sucks._

**Author's Note:**

> i just finished DrV3 and this ship is my fucking drug  
> also title is from poacher’s pride  
> English isn’t my first language forgive me


End file.
